Tony and Tim in Fanfiction Land
by ytteb
Summary: A clue in the title … Tim and Tony are in the squad room and Tim is worried about life in general. Not to be taken seriously.


Timothy McGee heaved a big sigh. Nothing.

He heaved a big sigh and threw his pen noisily on to his desk. Nothing.

He looked over to where his co-worker Tony DiNozzo was sprawled in his chair, feet up on his desk, a case file face down on his chest and with eyes closed. He was _meditating_. Again!

"Hey!" snapped Tim. Nothing. "Hi, Boss!"

"Nice try, Probie," drawled Tony sleepily; eyes still closed, "But you forget my enhanced sense of smell _and_ the fact that Boss has been wearing Bengay for … some reason. Ergo, he is not standing in front of me – or behind me – waiting to head slap me."

Tim paused, wondering if he could manage a plausible lie but, as he waited, realised it was impossible. He sighed – again.

This heartfelt sigh seemed finally to get Tony's attention even if the eyes didn't open.

"You seem troubled, Grasshopper. Is there something you need to share? You know, unburden yourself of the load that troubles you? Is there something amiss on the domestic front? Is perhaps not all well with the winsome Wheels? You know that I am always ready to share my thoughts on what is lacking in your life …" This recitation of a list of offers to help seemed to invigorate the sleepy DiNozzo and he swung himself upright with typical elegance and agility – although Tim thought he discerned a touch of relief on DiNozzo's face that he hadn't actually done some sort of pratfall.

"It's not fair," announced Tim.

"What's not fair?" asked Tony solicitously, if insincerely, "What has happened in your life that has evoked this discontent? You know you can tell me."

"It's just that … well, you get the good words," mumbled Tim.

"Excuse me?" replied Tony, brief for once.

"You know, you get the witty words … the clever stream of consciousness … the funny words …"

"Which are usually there to disguise that I haven't got a clue about what's going on – either because I've got the smallest IQ on the team or because I've been distracted by a woman, a movie or a sandwich," said Tony.

"That's true," said Tim, cheering up a bit.

"So, are we good?" asked Tony, preparing to return to his _meditation_.

"No. I want to get some interesting words for a change."

Tony tilted his head as if listening to something and then, apparently getting some sort of signal to continue, said, "Tim, are you sure that it's interesting _words_ you want for a change?"

It was Tim's turn to say, "Excuse me?"

"Well, don't you think it's possible that you don't get the interesting words because well, you're not that interesting?"

Tim's mouth fell open, "What do you mean, I'm not interesting? I've got the degrees …"

"Which don't necessarily make you interesting, Tim," said Tony honestly.

"And the troubled childhood …"

"That is true," admitted Tony, "But sadly, it's not exactly unique, is it? And I had mine first – although," he said darkly, "It's had a lot of oil poured on it lately."

"What?"

"You know, oil on troubled waters. What's that meant to do anyway? Is there any scientific thingy that happens when you pour oil on troubled water? Does it really calm it down?"

Tim opened his mouth to reply but then changed his mind, "Oh, no, you don't get me that easily. I'm not going to give you a detailed technical explanation of how that works. Even though it is fascinating … no, I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of yawning while I speak."

It was perhaps inevitable that Tony yawned. After he had finished his prolonged yawn and scratched his belly, Tony said discontentedly, "Yeah, but the chances are that I'd pour the oil and then set fire to it."

"'s OK," said Tim, "Boss would come to the rescue."

"True. It's useful having Indestructible Boss Guy around. Hey, where were we?"

"I was telling you all the reasons I'm not boring."

"Well, hate to tell you Tim, that if a stellar academic record and an unhappy childhood are what make you interesting … well, it's not surprising that you don't get the interesting words."

"I like computers!" protested Tim.

"I rest my case."

"I have good ideas!"

"That is true," conceded Tony, "Although you do kinda let Abby steal your thunder. Have you thought …? I mean, it would be drastic, but it might work …"

"What?"

"Well, you could ask to have a gender realignment."

"A what?"

"Become a woman," sighed Tony.

"What?"

"It's just that … well, the Boss is nicer with the women. If you were a woman then Abby probably wouldn't be able to grab the limelight …"

"You think it would make me more interesting to have people go through gender realignment surgery with me and everything that involves?" asked McGee in horror.

"No, no! I don't think that would work at all. No, you could just _ask _to be a woman – it happens. And it would add another dynamic to the squad room. You know, men still outnumber women – or at least, as I'm still around, they do at this moment in time."

"Why don't _you_ ask to be a woman?" asked Tim cunningly.

"Don't want to. My thunder doesn't get stolen – well, not by Abby. I mean, I get supplanted by Gibbs coming and taking the shot, driving a car to cut off an escape … but I get that. I mean, I'm Senior Field Agent – not Agent in Charge. I'm not supposed to get the final word and, if I did, it would upset some sort of internal team dynamicky thing. But you, your position isn't so clear – I mean, you're a genius and all that," he said both encouragingly and yet dismissively, "But you haven't got a place in the pecking order."

"And you have?"

"Good point," agreed Tony, "But it doesn't seem to matter … I guess it's like you said, I get some good words."

"And you think me being a woman would help?"

"Wouldn't hurt. I mean, it might end up being a bit sexist. You do get left behind in the office to do follow-uppy things. Important things," he added hastily, "But in the office. If that happened to a female character, there'd be … well, protests."

"So, you think I'm actually a female character but made male to keep feminists happy?"

"Pretty much. Can't believe I didn't think of it before. Well, I guess I know why," Tony tilted his head again, "This is being written by someone who thinks I've got more than 3 grey cells to rub together …"

"You know that doesn't make sense," pointed out Tim.

"What you being a female character or me having more than 3 grey cells?" queried Tony.

"Both … neither! And you know that you don't really rub grey cells together."

"I do know that! I was exercising my gift for using words in a striking way," said Tony sulkily, "A gift, I'll have you remember, that you were envious of a few sentences back. And," he added, "You forget that one of the few achievements I have is a phys-ed degree and people – well, some people – like to point out that a phys-ed degree can sometimes help with going on to do other science things. So there!" The DiNozzo gift with words apparently failed him at the end.

"OK."

"You could be more grateful," continued Tony peevishly, "You know that it's unusual for me to be nice to you. You should make the most of it when it happens."

"That's not always true," protested Tim, "There's lots of times you're nice to me … it just …"

"Varies," sighed Tony, "Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it? Do we have each other's backs … or are we trying to plunge knives into them?"

"Yeah, I know," agreed Tim gloomily, "Hey, do you think I've got a knife in my belt?"

"Do you want one? You know, is it high-tech enough for you?"

Tim thought for a moment or two, "Yes, I think I do."

"OK. Then try it."

Tim concentrated for another moment and then heard a _click_, "Hey, thank you," he called as he looked up to the ceiling. He drew a knife out of his belt buckle, "Cool!"

"See? Always worth a shot. That might save your life one day."

"You think?"

"Sure. And it would bring Gibbs back in as the accidental saviour," said Tony a little bitterly.

"If it happens," said Tim stoutly, "I'll try and get in that it was a gift from you, Tony."

"That means a lot, Probie," said Tony wiping moisture from a glistening emerald eye.

"How did you do that?" said Tim crossly.

"Do what?" said Tony putting the pristine handkerchief back in the pocket of his designer suit. He patted it so it didn't detract from the line of his firm-muscled torso.

"That! You totally got your eyes in _and_ you got a reference to your muscular body."

"You're welcome," said Tony kindly as he swept his honey-gold hair back off his stately forehead.

"And you just did it again!"

"It's a gift," shrugged Tony, "And I thought it was _words_ that got you annoyed."

"Well …"

"And you've got nice eyes. Obviously not emerald orbs filled with both joy and pain … but they're …" Tony concentrated for a second or two, "Limpid pools that mirror the clarity and honesty of your soul."

"They are?" said a gratified Tim.

"Absolutely. Although you need to be careful that they're not limpid pools that show how gullible you are. Just a thought; you know – word to the wise, from the wise," added Tony gently.

Tim shook his head as he tried to gather his thoughts together, "But anyway, I don't want to be a woman," he announced.

Tony shook his head in turn as he also tried to remember how they had reached this point, "You sure? Why? I think it has possibilities."

"'Cos it would mean I lose Delilah," confessed Tim.

"Ah, yes. I agree that would be a pity. Although," said Tony optimistically, "It might mean that I'd stand a chance with Wheels."

"What?"

"Well, no offence, but I think I have a good … rapport with her. Some comedic moments which could deepen into something more …"

"Definitely not," said Tim firmly, "It would be too confusing …"

"You think it's not already confusing? We thrive on confusion."

Tim backtracked, "It would be an adverse step for your character."

"It would?"

"Absolutely. To my mind, one of your character traits is your loyalty and integrity … having a dalliance with Delilah …"

"Hey, that sounds like something I'd say …"

Tim ignored the interruption, "It wouldn't jibe with your character – your innate honesty and sense of honour." Tony wiped another tear from his pellucid grey-green eyes. "Stop it!" ordered Tim, his own eyes flashing with sparks of indignation, "Hey! I did it too!"

"See, you learn from Obi-wan," said Tony complacently before going on, "So, changing sex is ruled out … and the troubled childhood has kinda run its course. You know, now that your Dad has gone to the great writing room in the sky …"

"What do you think it's like there?"

Tony suppressed a shudder, "Honestly? I try not to think about it. I mean, nobody thinks of me as a coward," he looked up anxiously at the ceiling, "But the puppet masters – and mistresses – they," He lowered his voice to a whisper, "I think they're a bit … disturbed." He put his finger to the side of his head in a meaningful gesture.

Tim felt a shudder go down his upright spine and nodded in agreement.

Tony nodded back, "And good job, getting the upright spine in, McMilitary."

"Learned from the best," said Tim generously.

"I know." After a pause in which Tony contemplated his insightfulness and general looking-out-for-the-underdogness _and_ kindly refrained from expelling moisture from his eyes, he said, "So what brought this on, Tim?" He rubbed his shapely nose thoughtfully.

Tim bit back an angry response and pursed his well-formed lips, "Well, I've just seen this draft of a story. And I get to do loads of technical stuff up in MTAC. I don't get out for 3 days and it's … complicated …"

"What do I get to do?"

Tim concentrated, "You do a lot of running. Get barbecue sauce on your new suit … why would you wear a new suit to work?" Tony shook his head to show he was baffled too. "Oh, and you get a concussion. And Boss is cold and mean to you."

Despite his superb physique, Tony was unable to stop his shoulders from slumping. "I have an idea," he announced.

"You do?"

"I'm allowed ideas sometimes. You know that. It's been established – it's canon – that I'm the wildcard. I'm the one who can have the idea that's plucked from the air, so the writer doesn't have to have a logical explanation. So long as Gibbs has a bigger one …"

"OK, as it's canon … and that's always important," said Tim sarcastically, "What's the idea?"

"We swap. We make it a bit less technical and something that plays to my strengths …"

"Your what?"

"I have strengths," said Tony intelligently, "In the beginning, before we had you, I used to do techy things on computers and up lamp-posts. So, we swap – I speak nerd and you get concussion."

"Well," said Tim doubtfully, "I'm not sure …"

"It'll be great," said Tony enthusiastically. He came and knelt beside Tim and put an arm around his shoulder as he encouraged him to see the brave new future, "Hurt/comfort – Delilah will be mopping your brow and wringing her hands. Abby will be pacing up and down outside. A stream of your friends from MIT will show up … there could be flashbacks as they tell stories of how wonderful you were. And you come out of your coma saying the password that will let us into the computer that holds the secrets of the dastardly criminal who wounded you."

"I do? I have the password?" breathed Tim.

"You do … of course, my insightful insights in MTAC will have already solved the password," said Tony.

"And I've already shot the bastard … from an unbelievably long distance … at the run," announced Gibbs arriving suddenly and silently.

"What do you think, Boss?" asked Tony whose enhanced hearing and sharp reflexes had prevented him from being surprised by Gibbs' arrival, "The Probie's feeling deprived."

Gibbs' sapphire blue eyes misted over with compassion as he considered the plea.

"Boss?" said Tim pleadingly, wishing he'd thought to put in a request for sharpened hearing and good situational awareness.

Gibbs' sharp intelligence brought him an answer, "No. Sorry, - well, obviously, not sorry – but no, it can't happen. Would switch the whole dynamic of the show – unless you want to go with the female agent idea?"

Tim shook his head. He was unsure as to why he had been allowed a normal relationship outside work, but he was clinging to it – it might even, if he played his cards right, add to his hidden depths.

Gibbs and Tony nodded approvingly as they saw the hidden depths expand, "You're getting the hang of this," said Tony encouragingly.

"And I've got news," said Gibbs.

"Good news?" asked Tony hopefully.

"Not sure. We get another jetpack case …"

Tim cheered.

"And you meet up with an old flame, Tony …"

"Not Jeanne …" Gibbs shook his head. "Or Zoe?" Another shake of the head and, before Tony could list any more, Gibbs added,

"Nobody we've met before." Tony looked grateful, "And it looks like you get to be actually charming … sort of soft and endearing," continued Gibbs.

Tony practised an endearing blush, "Sounds good, Boss."

Gibbs frowned, much as he did when McGee and Abby gave him too much technobabble, "But there's something I don't understand …"

A chill went down Tony's well-formed spine, "Boss …"

"You're wearing a red shirt …"

Gibbs disappeared.

Tony looked down at his muscular torso and saw, to his horror that it was encased in a tight red shirt, "McGee!" he said accusingly.

"Apparently it's a crossover," came Gibbs' disembodied voice, "With Star Trek – the original series?"

Tony also disappeared even as he directed a wounded look from his expressive sparkling eyes, "McGee …"

"Sorry, Tony," said Tim as he contemplated the empty squad room, "But you were right. The team dynamics needing changing. The squad room isn't big enough for both of us. And don't worry, it's only a story …"

From the great writing room in the sky, Tony looked down and laughed a chilling laugh in his tuneful baritone voice. He flexed his long shapely fingers and rubbed his chiselled jaw, "Oh, Tim … I think you need to learn that revenge is a dish best served cold …" He tried the effect of a maniacal laugh and wondered if he could persuade a friendly author to write him as a devilish, charming _villain_. He could offer to show him/her his impish dimples. The maniacal laugh came again …

* * *

_Just a reminder that, in Star Trek, the red-shirted characters were usually the ones who got shot, blown-up, infected etc etc by the aliens on the new planets. Tony being in a red shirt … well, it's not hopeful!_

_Obviously complete nonsense and not to be taken seriously. The characters are back in their NCIS boxes and ready for other authors to have their wicked way with them!_


End file.
